


won't leave you behind (won't leave you to yourself)

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Apologies, Clothing Kink, College Hockey, Love Confessions, M/M, Makeup Sex, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: AU. Kent still shows up at EpiKegster--but this time, Jack is more willing to listen to what he has to say.





	won't leave you behind (won't leave you to yourself)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

“Hey Zimms. Didja miss me?”

The main room of the Haus was packed with people, but in that moment, it was like it was only Kent standing there in the dim light, lights from phone cameras flashing around him. Jack stared at him, trying to register that Kent was really here, in the same room as him, here to see him.

There could be no doubt. Kent was here, snapback firmly in place with a few strands of his blond hair peeking out, looking utterly relaxed despite the pounding music and the crush of people—most of whom were now pointing at him and exclaiming excitedly to their friends. Just the sight, the idea of being subject to that kind of attention, made Jack’s stomach twist nervously.

Honestly, he didn’t even know why he was so surprised that Kent had swung by. This wasn’t even the first time Kent had showed up at Samwell. Sophomore year, Jack had walked back into the Haus after finishing a Roman history exam to find Kent holding court with Ransom and Holster, the two of them hanging onto his every word about the NHL even as he tried repeatedly to get them to talk about what college life was like.

But maybe that had been a blessing in disguise all along, because now Holster stumbled up to Kent, using one hand to hold his toga in place and the other to clutch a red solo cup. “Parser, my man! Long time no see!”

Kent turned to greet him, his people-pleaser smile automatically sliding onto his face, ready to be friendly and make nice, just like he always was.

It was the distraction Jack needed, and he turned to flee upstairs, abandoning Bitty and dodging various teammates and couples until he arrived at his room. He shut the door firmly behind him but didn’t bother to lock it.

Sooner or later, Kent would come to find him.

Trying to find a way to distract himself from the inevitable confrontation with his ex, Jack switched on the TV, put his feet up, and managed to find the Ken Burns Civil War documentary series playing on the History channel. He’d seen it before, but the great thing about history was that you could always come back to it with a new perspective and it would still be there. So he left it on.

He couldn’t concentrate, though. He kept on glancing at the door, wondering when Kent would barge in and force him to face truths he didn’t want to acknowledge, bring with him a past that Jack didn’t want to own.

Kent would probably be downstairs gladhanding for a while. It was just his way, even before he’d been famous. For Kent, being friendly wasn’t just a part of his image or wanting to give his brand a good name. He just _was._ He was interested in people in a way Jack never had been, in ways that would never occur to Jack to be.

It had been that way as long as Jack had known Kent, serving as the basis of their friendship in the Q. Jack was phenomenal at hockey and came from a hockey legacy and a wealthy family but was terrible with people. Kent was phenomenal at hockey, didn’t even have a father, came from a good-for-nothing family and a good-for-nothing town, and was just _skilled_ at talking to people and remembering their likes and dislikes and birthdays like no one else Jack had ever seen. Any time a teammate had overreacted to something Jack said to them after a game, any time Jack gave a comment to a reporter that was true but would sound kind of harsh once it was publicized, there was Kent, ready to soothe any hurt feelings in that really quick and efficient way of his, making it seem like Jack hadn’t actually said the wrong thing at all.

“I don’t get why you baby them,” Jack had told Kent frankly once, after Kent stepped in to intervene between Jack and a pissed off teammate of theirs. “He played a terrible game. He should know that. There’s no reason for him to pretend he didn’t, but here you are, coddling him.”

“Jack, I’m not coddling him, I’m protecting you,” Kent had told him, a his face mixture of affection and annoyance. “We’re gonna end up on separate teams after the draft. And I want at least a few of these guys who might end up as your teammates to leave here liking you, not thinking that you’re a douchebag who cares about nothing but hockey.”

Jack hadn’t seen the problem with caring about nothing but hockey. He still didn’t, really. But he had accepted Kent’s answer then, because he knew that Kent cared about him.

He had always been very aware that Kent cared about him. And that was what made it easy to push Kent away. He knew he could always rely on Kent to come back and try again, because Kent cared about him, because Kent understood him. He could treat Kent as badly as he wanted, but Kent would still be there.

No sooner had that revelation filled Jack than did Kent walk into the room, the din of the party briefly swelling through the open door before being filtered out when he closed it again.

“Helluva party down there,” Kent said by way of greeting. He grinned at Jack. “Almost makes me wish I’d gone to college.”

Jack didn’t reply, opting to simply watch him instead. He never thought Kent was aware of just how much he could fill a room just by his sheer presence. Even back before he was famous, he brought blinding charisma and charm and likeability—all the things Jack never felt anyone really needed—along with him wherever he went. He was just so casually friendly, so relaxed but so warm at the same time, that even now, when Jack’s stomach was twisting itself into knots at the conversation he knew he had to have, he also couldn’t help but wish he were still with Kent, just in a different setting. A day and time when they could just have fun together, be the people they were back during the Q.

But he couldn’t have that, so Jack had even less reason than usual to bother with niceties. “What do you want, Kent?”

Kent snagged the remote and switched off the TV so that he could have his full attention, moving in front of it with his arms crossed as he looked at Jack with faint disapproval. “It’s the end of the fall semester of your senior year. And there’s still been no word about what teams you’re considering.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably. Bob had been warning him that he needed to start making some decisions soon, offering to use some contacts to help him out. Jack had declined, unable to explain _why_ , when going back to hockey full time was something that he wanted, he was insisting on procrastinating. Hockey was the right choice for him, it was what he had always done and always planned on doing—so why was the idea of going back into the game so hard to face?

“I . . . I don’t know, okay?” he hedged, avoiding Kent’s eyes. “I guess I haven’t been seriously looking at any teams.”

He risked a sideways glance at Kent, who’d frozen momentarily, stunned by Jack’s answer.

“All right,” Kent responded after a brief silence, his tone mostly calm with just a hint of an edge. “I guess my question is: are you _seriously looking_ at going into the NHL? Because you’re running out of time to make that decision.”

This is a conversation he needed to have, and Jack knew it. But he also didn’t want to. Kent was right in front of him, demanding answers and explanations and wanting to know why Jack wasn’t doing what he needed to be doing, and not even Jack knew that. Looking at those teams, at the offers, embracing the future, being with Kenny—dammit, it was all so _hard_ , and just the thought of doing all of that sent fresh surges of anxiety swirling through him.

He didn’t want this conversation with Kent to happen. Because when it happened, he wouldn’t be able to explain why he was taking so long to get his act together and pick out a team, and everything between himself and Kent would end badly. Again.

“Kenny,” he said, letting his weariness show through. “I can’t do this.” And he really couldn’t. Not right now.

Kent startled at Jack using his nickname for him—it had been years since he’d called him that—but he wasn’t going to budge.

“Jack. Come on.” He looked at him directly, those blue-gray eyes boring into him. Refusing to accept his bullshit.

Kent had always been good at that. Maybe that was why Jack had stuck with him throughout Juniors. Or maybe it was why he’d stuck with Jack.

But Jack didn’t want to have to explain why he didn’t want to deal with the NHL right now, why he didn’t want to confront the future that was looming in front of him. He floundered for a response. “No, uh, Kenny—”

He’d barely begun before Kent cut him off, sighing and wearily rubbing a hand across his forehead. “All right, listen. Zimms, just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. The you can be done with shitty team. You and me—”

The casual dismissal of the Samwell team, the one Jack himself had built and now labored to keep at the top, instantly brought his hackles to rise. Forget not wanting to fight with Kent, forget that it was his own fault that he hadn’t picked any kind of team and was now running out of time. He was pissed, and Kent was leaving. Now.

 _“Get out.”_ The words escaped from his mouth in a snarl before he’d even realized he was vocalizing them.

Kent didn’t seem particularly moved. Just tired. “Jack.”

But Jack wasn’t going to stop—he was so sick of this scenario, the one where Kent showed up to sweep away all of his problems like he didn’t trust Jack to do it himself. The words swelled within him and then boiled over and bubbled out like a pot of stew that had been left too long on the stove.

“You can’t—you don’t come to my fucking school unannounced—” he spat, furious, for a moment forgetting all the times that he’d ignored Kent’s calls from he’d asked about visiting in the past.

But Kent hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he never did. “Because you shut me out—” he started, clearly irritated, but Jack wasn’t stopping.

“—and corner me in my room—” he went on, his exasperation with the situation suddenly uncontainable.

“I’m trying to help—” Kent started to insist, but Jack didn’t pause, turning and pacing around the room as he ranted on.

“—and expect me to do whatever you want—” Jack whirled to look at Kent accusingly, jabbing a finger in his direction.

But instead of being met with more resistance, he found a terrible expression of mixed grief and misery on Kent’s face, any impatience gone.  “What do you want me to say? That I miss you?” His voice cracked slightly. “I miss you, okay? I miss you.”

Upon seeing Kent’s evident pain, Jack deflated significantly. “You always say that,” he stated, with some uncertainty now that his tirade had been so abruptly cut short. Just seconds ago, he’d been furious, but now the anger had faded and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to keep going.

But it was true that Kent always said that he missed him. It was something Kent always brought up, whenever he was trying to get back into Jack’s life. As if it were something that gave him permission.

For a moment, Kent turned away, and silence fell between them, the boom of the bass from downstairs almost but not quite covering the sound of their fast breathing, Jack’s because he was still kind of upset but Kent’s seemingly due to holding back tears.

And when Kent turned back to him, Jack could see that his eyes were glistening.

“It’s because I always mean it,” he said roughly. He looked at Jack directly, not hiding anything, raw pain apparent. “I always miss you, Jack. I want you on my team. I want you back in my life. Everything that I have—my contract, my stats, my city—I want you have that, too. I want you to have the life you _should_ have gotten back during the draft, and I want to help you get it.” He gave a weak shrug. “That’s all this is, Zimms. Take it or leave it.”

The thing about Kent was that he rarely lied, not to Jack. As much as he rushed to soothe whatever wounds of other people by spinning Jack’s comments and reshaping whatever had happened, he always told Jack the truth, as it never occurred to him to lie. Probably because Jack never bothered with anything but the truth, anyway. He never saw any need to lie—if people couldn’t handle the truths he told them, that was their problem.

So he knew Kent wasn’t lying to him now. He knew that the reason Kent was standing in front of him right now, anxiety and trepidation in those beautiful eyes Jack had always adored, waiting for his reaction, wasn’t because he was trying to prove that he knew better or was better than Jack. He wasn’t trying to control him or cage him in.

Kent honestly wanted to help him, Jack realized. Kent had always just wanted to help him.

“I take it.” The words rushed out of his mouth before he had the time to consider them, before he could let himself second-guess them.

For a moment, the words didn’t even seem to register with Kent, but then astonishment began to take hold of his features as he realized what Jack had said.

“You—” he breathed, the surprise mixing in with happiness as he processed Jack’s response, barely seeming able to believe it. “You—”  

 _“I take it,"_ Jack said again, making sure his voice was stronger, his resolve firmer. He wanted Kent to know that he was serious about his response, that it was something that was definitely going to happen.

Kent stared at him for a moment, and then threw back his head and laughed. It was a genuine laugh of happiness and excitement, and it only then occurred to Jack how dearly he missed hearing.

It was only then that it occurred to Jack how dearly he’d missed Kent. How much he’d wanted this moment. How much he’d wanted for them to be together again. How good it felt to have their pasts buried and to know that they would be together again, that any anxiety from the prospect of seeing Kent again was now no longer needed.

His heart racing with either nervousness or anticipation (he couldn’t tell), Jack bridged the gap between himself and Kent, taking him into his arms, marveling at how well Kent’s shorter and narrower frame still fit against his more muscular form.

“I missed you, Kenny,” he murmured, gazing into Kent’s eyes, overjoyed to see them filled with affection for him again. And then he pulled Kent into a fierce kiss.

Kent didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, throwing his arms around Jack’s shoulders and pressing into him as much as he could, kissing back with a frenzied intensity. It good and warm and _real_ in a way that just about brought Jack’s brain to short-circuit.

He couldn’t believe he’d done it. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten Kenny back, that it had only taken a few words and now Kenny was with him again, filling the empty spot within him that Jack had barely recognized as still existing.

He didn’t even realize he was steering Kent toward the bed before he dumped him on top of it, causing Kent to sprawl out on his back, looking up at Jack with lust clouding his blue-gray eyes, except now Jack couldn’t help but think that they were kind of silvery instead of gray. Like mist over the ocean or something. They were the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, he was sure of it. And it certainly didn’t hurt that they were Kenny’s.

 _“Jack,”_ Kent said huskily he gazed at him with a sly smile tugging up his lips. “Don’t waste any time.”   

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat at the way that Kenny, _his_ Kenny, was looking at him, when Jack had thought he’d never look at him that way again.

Beginning to tremble with anticipation, Jack reached down and pinned Kent’s wrists above his head with one hand while he slid the other beneath Kent’s T-shirt to play with one of his nipples. At the same time, he shoved a knee between Kent’s thighs to spread his legs apart.

He bent down to whisper into Kent’s ear, loving how Kent shivered at the warm breath tickling his skin. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

He bit down onto Kent’s collarbone and grinned as he got a loud moan in response.

For the first time in what shouldn’t have been such a long time, Jack Zimmerman was getting laid at a party.

* * *

In the morning, Jack drifted in and out of consciousness several times, always taking comfort in the presence of Kent’s warm body pressed against his. When he briefly entered awareness and noticed Kent’s absence, the surprise was enough to wake him up completely.

He found himself sitting up in bed as the previous night’s events floated back into his mind. He’d gotten back together with Kenny. And he’d agreed to play for the Aces.

And he was okay with both, Jack realized. More than okay. He was excited for it.

He was distracted by his musings then as Kent walked through the door, clad in only in a beach towel—one of Jack’s—wrapped low around his hips. His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of soap—he’d obviously just showered.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, but there was a hint of nervousness there as well. His eyes sought out Jack’s and locked onto them, studying him.

At first Jack didn’t know what was wrong with him, not until he realized that it wasn’t Kent but himself. Kent thought he was going to go back on his word, it dawned on him. He was left feeling both slightly miffed and slightly ashamed that Kent thought that about him.

So he tried to put Kent’s fears at rest.

“Hey,” he said back, trying to make sure his tone was light, and snagged Kent’s arm, pulling him down to sit beside him on the bed so he could give him a kiss.

Relief was plain on Kent’s face when Jack leaned back afterward, the flash of insecurity gone. “You all right?”

“Great,” Jack said sincerely. Throwing back the covers, he stood, walking over to his dresser and opening a drawer. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can get breakfast.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kent agreed, reaching for his discarded shirt.

Jack finished tugging on a pair of boxers and rushed to stop him. Just the idea of Kent putting back on a shirt that was probably stained with spilled beer and smelled like the sweaty crowd of the party made him frown.

“Leave it,” Jack urged him. Returning to his dresser, he rummaged for a moment and came up with his Frozen Four T-shirt from his sophomore year, the one that was soft as a tissue and had long sleeves. “Put this on.”

Kent accepted the offered shirt with a mischievous smile. “Thanks, Zimms.”  

Jack felt his face heat just at the sight of that smile—God, it was like he was still a kid. “You’re welcome.”

He turned his attention dressing himself, donning a fresh shirt for himself and a new pair of jeans and tugging a sweatshirt over his head before gathering up the clothing he’d ripped off last night in a frenzy and dumping them into the laundry hamper he kept beneath his bed. After sliding on clean socks and his sneakers (to save time, he never undid the laces), he turned to Kent, who was now dressed and toweling off his hair.

“You ready?” Jack asked.

“Yep.” Kent did his best to smooth his hair down to remedy the worst of the messiness, but it barely made a difference. Still, he seemed satisfied, and turned to Jack with that same mischievous smile.  

It wasn’t like looking at Kent was anything new, but Jack was still floored by the sight of him in his shirt, the sapphire blue color bringing out the blue in his eyes. He’d forgotten just how much he _enjoyed_ seeing Kenny wear his clothes, and now the situation was just so unexpectedly _hot,_ with Kent looking so unexpectedly damn sexy, that he had to fight the urge to throw Kent down to the bed all over again.

Instantly, Kent caught on. “See something you like, Zimms?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, his smile widening.

Kent always knew him so well.

Instead of answering, Jack merely wrapped one of Kent’s hands in his own and led him out the door. “Let’s get something to eat,” he said, ignoring the low heat coiling in his stomach as he felt his face flush again.

They made their way down the stairs together, gingerly stepping over the saturated sections of the carpet that reeked of Miller Lite. Red solo cups were strewn every few feet and wisps of scattered confetti stirred at their footsteps. Once they reached the downstairs, they could see that beer bottles littered almost every available surface. Jack was fairly certain that if he looked out on the front porch he’d find Shitty lying there, passed out by the tub juice, but the smell of someone cooking something good convinced him to go to the kitchen first.

“This way,” he told Kent, tugging him into the kitchen.

Bitty turns out to be the one cooking—who else who would it be? He was making pancakes, it looked like.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack called to him as they walked in. “Smells good.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bitty gushed. “It’s blueberry pancakes, and it’s my Meemaw’s recipe! I can give it to you if you wan—”

He turned from the stove to look at Jack, smiling widely, but that smile instantly dropped off his face the moment he saw Kent.

“W-w-what’s _he_ doing here?” he stammered, his impossibly large eyes going even wider than usual.

“Well, uh, I—” Jack found himself flustered, not sure how to answer, and he looked at Kent for guidance.

But Kent just looked back at him, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah, Jack. What _am_ I doing here?”  

The clear affection on Kent’s face spurred Jack into giving an honest response, and suddenly, he couldn’t understand why he’d ever say anything less than the truth. “He spent the night here,” he told Bitty unabashedly. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Bitty simply stood there, gaping at him, and a new voice from behind Jack uttered an awed, “No fucking way.”

Turning, Jack found Ransom and Holster standing at the bottom of the stairs, Rance in jeans and a sweatshirt but Holster still in his toga. They were both staring at Jack and Kent, utterly gobsmacked.

“Dude,” Ransom said in a hushed voice. “Pimms _confirmed_.”

“Confirmed,” Holster echoed, rubbing his eyes for a moment and then continuing to stare at Jack and Kent as if he wasn’t quite quite convinced they were real.

Kent seemed amused by their antics and shot them a grin before letting go of Jack’s hand and making his way to the stove, nudging Bitty out of the way. “Careful, Bittle, or those pancakes are going to burn.” Lifting up the spatula, Kent swiftly switched them from the griddle to the large pile already waiting on a plate.

Seemingly recovering from their shock at the mention of food, Ransom and Holster made their way to the table, drawing out chairs, sweeping any remaining Epikegster debris onto the floor.

“Those pancakes for us, Bits?” Holster asked as he took a seat.

“What? Oh, yes.” Bitty snapped out of his daze and waved a hand at the pancakes. “Yeah, I made them all with you in mind,” he said, glancing at Jack somewhat forlornly.

“Sweet. Bring them over here, Parson,” Ransom told him, but then seemed to catch himself when Holster shot him a horrified look. “I mean, please bring them over here. If you wouldn’t mind,” he added hastily.

Kent only laughed. He had such a nice laugh, Jack couldn’t help but muse. It sounded real.

He hoped he’d get to hear Kent laugh a lot more.

“I don’t mind, Ransom,” he said, hefting the heavy plate of pancakes and carrying them over to the table. Bitty followed him silently, still shooting mournful looks at Jack. “Besides, it makes me feel like I’m just one of the guys.” He tossed that smile of his Jack’s way. “One of Jack’s guys.”

“Hmph.” Jack pulled out one chair for Kent and the one beside it for himself. He grabbed Kent’s arm and leaned in to whisper to him before he sat down. “Not ‘one of’, Parse. You’re _the_ guy for me.”

Kent contentedly nuzzled against Jack’s neck for a moment before tugging him down into his chair. “Glad to hear it, Zimms. Now let’s eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


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